


Aquarius

by MatteBluDragon



Category: Kingdom Come: Deliverance (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, F/M, Friendship, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 19:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16143599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatteBluDragon/pseuds/MatteBluDragon
Summary: Bohemia is burning and so are its people.Henry of Skalitz is caught between his new life and his pursuit of the ghosts of the old.Theresa is caught between doing the right thing for her people and her own relationship with the person who has come to matter the most to her.Neither is prepared for what's to come.





	Aquarius

Bohemia, 1403   
  
It was nighttime on the road to Rattay, and Henry was sure he’d made a mistake. His white stallion pulled at the reins, he wanted to run as fast as he could. But Henry knew it was too dangerous to let loose because without the torch he held aloft, he couldn’t even see two feet before him.   
  
He’d been on the road for weeks now, hunting down the bandit gang from Neuhof. He’d made the acquaintance of a particularly nasty man by the name of Morcock. He’d even received an invitation to their bandit camp in the woods north of Rovna and an advance of a dozen score Groschen.   
  
He didn’t particularly care about the Groschen, or the look on poor Timmy’s face as they cut him down while all Henry did was watch. He was going to forget those. No, all he cared about was that he was one step closer to Runt, closer to getting his vengeance.   
  
Henry turned his attention back to the road, but it was very difficult to. It was all a formless mass of black, and some owls hooted in the background to make the scene before him all the more ominous. No good Christian, he thought, should be out this late.   
  
He had been away from home a long time now. That is, if sleeping in the Rattay mill counted as a home, anyway.   
  
Henry wanted to doze off, and he loosened the reins a little. Looking back, that was not the biggest mistake he’d made that night.   
  
It was over as soon as it started. One moment Henry was on the stallion’s back, the wind in his long hair and a blinding haze of torchlight in his eyes, and the next moment he was on the ground, the wind knocked out of him.   
  
The torch had fallen from his grasp and rolled another few feet, and his head hurt so bad his vision doubled, but he could make out two shadowy figures approaching from both sides of the road.   
  
Henry tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t budge. His back and shoulders cried for mercy, but somehow, he summoned the strength to roll himself over, armour clinking distantly in his ears, and pushed himself up to his knees.   
  


Out of the corner of his right eye a star blinked out, then another. He found his hand on that german-made sword at his hip. Another star blinked out, and his arm flung high out to his side, the steel slashing through the cold air, tearing into the shadow looming over him.

 

He let the swing carry him around and fell back on his side, as a pained howl split the night. With a thud the shadow fell to the ground, then to his left an anguished scream joined by his stallion’s neigh, cut off by a sickening crunch.

 

Iron horseshoes clattered heavily on the worn path, another shadow collapsed to the ground. It was quiet again save for his heavy breathing, the far-off crackle of his torch, and the death-rattles of the man he had cut open.

  
Henry tried to use his sword as leverage to stand, but he felt nothing in his legs. He was too lightheaded to move them. He summoned all his will and dragged himself to a tree on the roadside. Wiping his sword with a cloth, he waited till all was still. He felt paranoid, so drew his sword and sat with it extended in front of him for only God knew how long. The lingering pain hadn’t caught up to him yet, it was just a burning in his nerves. He sat till his eyes grew heavy and then sleep overtook him.   
  
Morning found him hurt and sore, with bruises all over his arms and neck, his face dirtied. His shoulder was stiff and his fingers numb and cold, and his sword was on the ground before him.   
  
On the road lay the grisly remains of an emaciated man in rags. His stallion fretted about, snorting and impatient, one of his legs covered in blood.   
  
Henry didn’t make the mistake of looking at either corpse for too long. They were a horrible reality of what war reduced men to, nothing more. Still, he had no mercy for men that had ambushed him in the dark.   
  
Slowly but surely, he found the strength in his legs, and massaging his shoulder, he got to his feet. It was long past daybreak, and the road was as desolate as it was at night. He could see plainly the offending rope tied across the branches, tall enough to knock a rider off his horse, possibly kill him if he was going fast enough.   
  
Wordlessly, he shook the dirt from his hair and chopped the rope in half with his dagger. He rubbed a soothing palm over his stallion’s back and smoothened his mane. One of these days, he’d have to get him a new bridle.   
  
He mounted the horse wincing in pain at the exertion, but he decided to push on. Rattay was close.   


* * *

  
Theresa tried to blink the fatigue from her eyes. She hadn’t gotten any sleep in a long time now. Most of her nights were spent at the bench overlooking the water. That seemed to be the only way she could stay calm now.   
  
Of course, Peshek was none the wiser. He still groaned and grunted and told her to work faster. Mirika had noticed. Sweet, innocent Mirika, still shielded from the horrible reality of this war.   
  
If she survived this winter, the next summer would be her eleventh. But winter was harsh. And a winter with the countryside burning?   
  
That was death incarnate.   
  
Peshek didn’t feed Mirika very well, and God knew he could afford to. During war, while the countryside burned and people needed bread, a miller made a lot of money. But perhaps blaming Peshek would be ungrateful of her.    
  
Mirka was a wee babe when her parents died, and she had no home.   
  
As for Theresa: It was best left unsaid how much Theresa owed Peshek. He’d taken her in, given her a place to stay and fed her. He’d also taken Hal in when he needed it, when no one else would.   
  
Yet, often at night, Theresa had heard Peshek talking to unsavoury sorts, when he was sure everyone else was out of earshot. Theresa had heard them talk about Mirika. About her too.   
  
Theresa was sure those men didn’t have good intentions, and the least she could do was keep Mirika out of harm’s way. Besides, it wasn’t as if she would be able to get proper sleep anyway, without being hounded by the family she had lost and the burning sensation of gloved metal hands on her wrists, on her shoulders, pulling at her…   
  
No, she wouldn’t dwell on it. No good Christian should. She wished Hal would get back from whatever work he was doing for Sir Radzig. She hadn’t seen him in a long time. Hopefully he hadn’t forgotten about them.   
  
The other Skalitz refugees didn’t hold a great opinion of him anymore. They all talked about how he had bullied Kunesh to pay a debt owed to his father, one the luckless drunkard was in no position to pay, how he had kicked out Beggar Jane from her regular spot because the swordsmith, who again could afford it, didn’t like a beggar at his doorstep. His old friends Janek and Jaroslav once told her how Hal had grown distant.   
  
Their opinion of him was that his rapid ascent in society, the wealth and power that came from directly answering to none but the Lords of the land, had gone to his head.   
  
Theresa didn’t agree with them, because she held the opinion that Hal was beginning to grow distant from everything. On days when he was granted leave, Hal spent most of his day either training with the guard captain Bernard or working the forge.   
  
The last time he had spent any time with her was a week after he had taken employment with Sir Radzig. He’d asked her out and they had gone on a pleasant stroll by the lakeside. Afterwards, he had tried helping her with some of her work. It had been a good day, something in an increasingly short supply as winter approached and the days grew grim.   
  
Maybe something troubled Hal, for as long as she had known him he had never seemed grim and distant. He had always been a cheerful sort, a harmless troublemaker. She resolved to ask him when she saw him again, if she saw him again.   
  
At least Hal still made time for Mirika sometimes.   
  


* * *

  
  
Theresa rubbed her hands on her apron. The mushrooms really needed some washing before going into soup.    
  
Peshek had been exceptionally cranky this morning. His knees were troubling him again. When Mirika asked him for some meat for dinner this once, she’d been sent crying with a bruised cheek. And then Peshek huffed and announced he was setting off to see his friend Woyzeck in Kohelnitz.   
  
Theresa didn’t like it, but she understood. Peshek was a miser and the way the war was turning out there wouldn’t be much Groschen to tide over this winter. Certainly not enough after his tithes were paid. Better to eat bread and mushroom soup now and have warmth and food in the winter.   
  
But then again, Theresa knew how much Peshek made in these dark times. God knew he could afford to feed them well.   
  
After all, the old man had many other sources of income. Sources different from the mill and involving hooded men in the dark of the night.   
  
But Theresa decided not to think of that. It was impractical at best. Better to cope with a situation she was given than twist her heart wondering about things that weren’t.   
  
She decided not to go straight to the mill after she spotted Vincent turning the corner. Poor kid wasn’t coping very well, had only his mother left. He was too proud to beg, so he lived off of Janek’s charity.   
  
“‘Reesa, I was hoping to see you!”   
  
Theresa smiled, at least some people in this world cared for her. But then she regretted smiling. Vincent’s features were anxious, his brow sweaty. It was as if he was pacing up and down this street corner hoping to cross her paths.   
  
_ Oh no. _   
  
“What’s the matter Vincent? Is your mother alright?”    
  
Vincent shook his head, “No, she’s fine. It’s-it’s a different matter. Have you met the Bailiff yet?”   
  
Theresa recalled crossing paths with the Bailiff once. It was when she’d gone to fetch the Apothecary for Henry when they first came to Rattay. He seemed a stern man with immaculate clothing and highborn manners. Maybe a little pompous.   
  
“I know him. Why?”   
  
Vincent looked both sides, as if telling her a secret. He continued in a more subdued voice.   
  
“He came to the camp today with his guards. Wouldn’t come down, said it stunk. Folk were furious, said nary a peep but the pompous arsehole said something about jobs and marched away.”   
  
Theresa tilted her head to one side in confusion. Wouldn’t jobs be something the folk wanted? Vincent sensed her confusion.   
  
“It’s some water carrying, ‘reesa, and nowhere enough for everyone here. Alex was furious, and so were all the rest o’ the folk. But I-I need the work ‘reesa. My mother is old and she can’t help, I got no one else!”   
  
While Theresa’s heart cried out for the poor boy, she knew someone in a bigger pinch than he was in.   
  
“How’s Antonia doing?”   
  
“Antonia?” Vincent wiped his forehead, “She wasn’t there because only the menfolk went, but her man keeps getting worse and she already owes the Apothecary too much, he wouldn’t give more ‘erbs for credit.”   
  
Theresa wanted to sob. Antonia had been like an older sister growing up. They’d drifted apart after she married, but it still brought her anguish to see that proud woman slowly killing herself, toiling away for her insensate man.   
  
“‘Reesa, look, I-we need those jobs. Folk are too proud to admit but we need it.  _ I  _ need it.”   
  
Theresa sighed.   
  
“What do you want me to do Vincent? I can’t exactly march up to the Bailiff, now can I?”   
  
Vincent nodded. “‘Reesa, could you ask Hal to step in?”   
  
Of course, that made sense. Hal was the only one among them with a high enough social standing to approach the Bailiff on a matter like this, but that solution would probably not be appreciated by the Skalitz folk.   
  
She said as much.   
  
“Look, Vincent, the folk won’t accept Hal to step in for them, but I could ask him to manage something for you if you wanted.”   
  
Vincent was ready for this.   
  
“I’ll handle that, but you have to ask him to step in, ‘reesa, please.”   
  
Theresa wondered just how old this sheltered boy had grown in the last few months. If shy Vincent could offer to mediate on opinions that strong, so be it. She’d get Hal involved.   
  
“Alright. Hal’s on the road but when he comes back I’ll request him to look into this. But no promises.”   
  
She made herself a promise, though. If Hal, another man who God knew could afford to, chose not to get involved, she’d lose faith in God’s humanity.   
  


* * *

  
  
Theresa stood with a bewildered look on her face, gazing into her liege lord’s unreadable one.   
  
He had suddenly stopped her on the road and her heart had skipped a bit. It was best for little people, people like her, to not get involved with the nobility. Sure, it suited Hal and his father old Martin before him, but a peasant wasn’t the same as a blacksmith.   
  
“Girl, don’t have that look on your face. Its perplexing.”   
  
Theresa bowed her head immediately, “Yes my lord.”   
  
Radzig smiled and gave her something heavy wrapped in cloth. She took it from him quietly, suddenly wishing she knew her etiquette and trying not to offend her lord.   
  
Sir Radzig clasped his hand behind him and spoke, in his charismatic and clear voice. “I received a missive that Henry is coming back soon, and the lad has been working very hard recently. So I need to make sure that he is fed well. I hope you know how to cook lamb.”   
  
Lamb? Just what sort of work did Hal do for Sir Radzig, that a reward for working hard was meat from the Lordship’s tables?   
  
“Yes, my Lord. I-thank you.”   
  
Sir Radzig simply nodded and turned back, walking towards the Pirkstein chapel.   
  
Theresa hid the cloth wrapped meat in her basket as much as she was able to. She planned to give Mirika some of it. She hoped Henry wouldn’t mind, but there would be dire consequences if Peshek knew.   
  


* * *

  
  
Mirika clutched the only belonging she had in the whole wide world, her tattered cloth doll Sir Timmins, and wriggled her thin toes to try and brush off wet sand. It was of no use. She had to get her hands involved.   
  
She frowned when she saw the scab on her wrist, not exactly remembering how long it had been there, but it had been there a while now.   
  
Then she heard a distant neigh, and the battered form of Hal on his white stallion came into view.   
  
Mirika broke into a smile. She adored Hal and his little jokes and his easy smile and his strength. To her, he was a knight from the stories. And the fact that he rode around on a white stallion helped, too.   
  
Hal broke into a smile when she ran towards the edge of the mill. For all his misgivings with the mill and his general mood, he always tried to be nice to the poor gir.   
  
“Hey Mirika! How’ve you been?”   
  
Mirika frowned when she saw the condition Hal was in, and Hal frowned as it suddenly registered that from somehow, the girl had gotten thinner since he had last seen her.    
  
“Hal, are you hurt?”   
  
“Only a little. The dragon was hard to slay of course.”   
  
She giggled at that.   
  
Getting off the horse hurt of course, but Hal didn’t let it show. He wouldn’t wince in pain, at least in front of a little girl. He cursed inwardly. Peshek, may the devil eat him, had been really neglectful of late if the poor girl was in a condition this bad.    
  
He tousled her thin, wispy hair with his gloved hand and wondered just how small she was. Were girls her age so tiny, or was she not growing properly? He’d have to pick some fresh fruit and a hare for her the next time he went to the forge.   
  
Mirika’s eyes drifted to the large sword on Henry’s waist. It had a richly decorated wooden scabbard, bound by shiny metal bands. She wanted to touch it at first but decided it wouldn’t be the best idea. After all, the knights in the stories didn’t like their swords being touched.   
  
But what if it was for show? She hadn’t seen this sword before. No, the last time she’d seen Hal he had a mean and ugly looking hammer, nothing so elegant.   
  
“Hal,” she poked at his chausses hoping to get his attention, “Is that a real sword? What happened to your hammer?”   
  
Hal laughed. No matter how underfed and neglected that poor girl was, she was still as sharp as ever.   
  
“That is a real sword indeed!”   
  
Mirika’s eyes glimmered.    
  
“No way!”, she said.   
  
Hal was tired and had exerted himself, but little girls with glimmering eyes had always been his weakness.   
  
“Wanna see?”   
  
Mirika nodded so hard Hal thought her head would come off.   
  


With a grunt he rolled his shoulders. One last trick before he took all his gear off. He slowly drew the sword from the scabbard. The steel wasn’t Bohemian, it was German. So was the design. He had won it off a Knight errant, after beating him in battle. It proved to be a great sword, well balanced and sharp edged.   
  
He chopped at the air with it, even showed her a stance, but he wasn’t really feeling it. He needed a hot bath soon to soothe the soreness in his limbs.   
  
He wasn’t sure what gleamed brighter in the sunlight, the steel or the child’s eyes. Hal shook his head, he was probably going to be hounded to show her something every time she saw him with that blade.   
  
“Mirika, where’s Theresa?”   
  
Henry had been wondering where Theresa was, how she was doing. She hadn’t come out to greet him so it might have been she was busy, or cross at him for not visiting for so long. He could understand her being mad, he hadn’t really been a very good friend.   
  
“‘Reesa? ‘Reesa went off to the market to get food.”   
  
Oh. Well, that still didn’t tell him if she was cross about him. But his tired shoulders had given up now. They didn’t like the weight of his armour any more. He needed to take it off and do something about his back.   
  
The bathhouse was nearby, but Henry didn’t want to go there. Well, he’d need to go to the barber-surgeon anyway, but hopefully it would be once he had some time to relax his shoulders.   
  
He spotted a sturdy barrel he knew could support his weight and leaned against it. It took every fiber of his will and the presence of a small child who looked up to him to not slump to the ground and take a nap.   
  
He decided to make the best use of the natural daylight and reached into his satchel for the leatherbound tome he’d borrowed from Father Godwin, a primer on Swordsmanship. Most of the techniques listed in it he already knew, but Mordhau seemed like a worthwhile trick to add to his repertoire   
  
Mirika was automatically interested, she’d never seen a book before, and the book he was reading was helpfully illustrated, though the ink had faded from the vellum over the years. She peered at him in an almost comical way with her big head and thin body. She was amazed by the book, she had never seen anything like it before.   
  
Partway through the basics of a convoluted stance Henry was trying to make sense of, she poked him in the side.   
  
“Hal, do you even know how to read or are you just looking at the pictures like me?”   
  
Henry laughed. She had been quiet and inquisitive for so long he’d been wondering if something bad had happened.   
  
“Of course I do. I also know a lot of other things.”   
  
Mirika cocked her eyebrow and Henry imagined that expression suited a maiden than a child, and said: “Oh?”   
  
Henry shut his book and bound the tome again. He smiled mysteriously. “Would you like to see?”   
  
Mirika nodded, and Henry seized the opportunity to pick her up and toss her in the air. Mirika shrieked with laughter and in another moment she was back in his grasp. But Henry put her down, he wasn’t in the mood again.   
  
A child should not be that light.   
  
He stood, wincing again as his pains manifested and his back groaned.   
  
“Hey Mirika, will you do me a favour?”   
  
“Yes?” she said, cocking her head.   
  
Henry tossed her a Groschen.    
  
“Go and get some pretzels from the market. Some for me and some for you.”   
  
Mirika nodded happily and ran off as fast as her little legs could carry her. Henry smiled. Long as he was around, he could make sure the girl was eating enough. He’d have to leave some silver with Theresa when he left to make sure they were both eating okay, since Peshek seemed unable to take care of them both.   
  
Theresa appeared a little later. First a little concerned at the presence of the armed and armoured man with long hair leaning against the barrels in her yard, but as she got closer he recognised him as Hal. And a very bruised and sore Hal.    
  
She broke into a half-run and before he could even say anything she took his chin and moved his head to one side so she could have a look at the purple bruise on his cheek.   
  
“Hal what happened, did you get attacked?”   
  
Henry laughed. So she wasn’t very cross at him after all, or maybe she was but still cared for him somewhat. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen a kinder soul than Theresa. Her green eyes held nothing but concern for him, and they were beautiful green eyes too.   
  
“Well?” She tapped her foot impatiently, worry still marking her features and basket of groceries tucked under her arm.   
  
She was still wearing her tunic. Whatever its original colour was, it was nothing but dirt now. He decided to buy her another dress. He had more than enough money and never gave her anything.   
  
Lesser, far less prettier women pranced around in their bright dresses while Theresa wore a dress dirtied by sweat and tears and labour and Cuman hands. It was a grave injustice.   
  
Henry shook his head. “I just fell off my horse is all.”   
  
He left out the ambush or the emaciated men he’d cut down. Theresa was a good Christian and those details weren’t meant for a good Christian.    
  
She smacked the metal pauldron of his shoulder lightly, smiling. “Well be more careful, you big baby! Even Mirika doesn’t hurt herself jumping around all day.”   
  
He smiled back and followed up “Maybe I need you to take care of me.”   
  
It was only after the words were out of his mouth he realised what it’d meant. The red sneaking up to Theresa’ cheek meant she did realise that too. The silence that followed wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but the look Theresa gave him indicated she understood more than she let on about the horse business. But Theresa was like that. She always knew.   
  
Henry cleared his throat, “So. Will you help me get out of this armour?”   
  
Theresa smiled, happy to have been given a way out.   
  


* * *

  
It was a few hours later, after she had removed his armour, cleaned his wounds and bruises and put salve and bandage on them, that Theresa found a break from all the housework. Mirika had returned and then immediately gone to bed sick with too much food in her. Theresa smiled, it was Hal’s doing but she couldn’t be cross with him after all. Better to be sick of a full stomach than to be sick of not eating enough for even a mutt, every single day.   
  
Peshek hadn’t come back, and it was just late in the afternoon. Hopefully his stay with the Miller Woyzeck would keep him for another day. The last time both he and Hal had gotten into a room it had almost come to blows. He’d seemed impressed by Hal initially, but she didn’t know what had ultimately caused the animosity between the two.    
  
She wasn’t going to ask Peshek anytime soon and Hal had grown the annoying habit of keeping secrets. But she wouldn’t ask him either. She thought she had an inkling what it could be.   
  
Hal had many faults, one of the more prominent ones being that temper of his. But even his enemies couldn’t fault him in lacking honour. Something Peshek could definitely use more of.   
  
She decided to check on Hal, and found him awake. He seemed absent-minded, with how he regarded the sky. He seemed almost sad.   
  
“I see you’re finally awake.”   
  
Hal was startled, then he took notice of her.   
  
“Thank you for this, Theresa.”   
  
Colour spread along her cheeks, and she brushed it off. “Oh, don’t thank me Hal. Just promise you’ll take better care of yourself.”   
  
“You know, if you’ll patch me up every time I get hurt, I might just do the opposite.”    
  
Theresa couldn’t find a way to reply. She didn’t know if it was his usual playfulness or if he was being callous towards her feeling protective of him. Probably the former. For as long as she had known him, Hal teased everyone. It was just how he was as a person, but it still hurt her anyway.   
  
They stood in the uncomfortable silence for a little while, but then Hal decided to break it with a clearing of his throat and a swift change of subject. He sat up and pulled his white shirt off the hook.   
  
“So, Theresa, how are you doing?”   
  
“Well, I have to take care of the mill, a child who went to bed with a stomach ache because she gorged herself, and a man in the household who needs some food in him and his washing piled up with the rest of all the housework so I’m just doing fine.”   
  
Hal gave her a sheepish, almost apologetic look and took her small softer hand in his large and toughened blacksmith’s hands.   
  
He rubbed a calloused finger over her knuckles and slowly sat up, steadying himself with an elbow to use as leverage against the wall.   
  
“I’m sorry Theresa,” he said, “I’ll go to to the Inn tonight if it’s too much trouble.”   
  
Theresa huffed. “Oh stop. You know that’s not what I meant.”   
  
“You are too good to me, did you know that?”   
  
Theresa wondered if she should mention what Vincent had told her earlier, and ask for Hal to intervene. She knew he wouldn’t refuse her, but suddenly springing it on him wouldn’t be the best course of action. There were strong feelings on either side and Hal looked content, almost. Happier than she had seen him in the last few months.   
  
Better to tell him over dinner, she decided.   
  
She took her hand from his grasp and smiled. “I do. Now go back to sleep and I’ll cook you something when you wake up.”   
  
She stepped out into the courtyard momentarily and let her hair down. It was a nice day out, with soft sunshine and gentle breeze. Hal’s massive stallion snorted and neighed a little, but it didn’t bother her much anymore. It was a nice day for a walk.    
  
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she said to herself. “When Hal is feeling better.”   
  
The shaved head of Jaroslav the Nightingale peeked into the yard. He was an older man, and head watchman of the Rattay guards. Theresa had known him by face and he had a good reputation. He also seemed to get along with Mirika; Theresa had found the little hellion pestering the man for stories at the inn before.   
  
He glanced over towards her and raised his arm in greeting.   
  
“Hail, Theresa! I heard Henry was back from Mirika. I was wondering if he’d play Farkle with me and the lads this evening.”   
  
Theresa was surprised. So maybe Hal did have some friends.   
  
“He got hurt on his way back so he’s resting. I’ll let him know when he wakes up.”   
  
Nightingale stood there for a moment, a look of concern passing through his face. Theresa saw it as a good sign, at least it meant Hal had other people who cared for him. But then Theresa understood, there was something else that the man didn’t want to tell her, something for Hal’s ears only.   
  
“If there was something you wanted him to know, you could just tell me. It’s alright, Hal trusts me.” She certainly hoped he did.   
  
Nightingale nodded and reached into his pouch to fetch a piece of paper. “It’s a message from the Bailiff. It was very important; I wasn’t told what it was and I have worked for the Bailiff for years now.”   
  
Theresa frowned. While there wasn’t a hint of jealousy in his voice and it was just a simple admission she felt bad about the man anyway. But a letter? Did Hal even know how to read?   
  
Well, that was nobody's concern but Hal’s.

  
“I’ll give it to him.” She said simply, and took the letter from his hands.

  
Nightingale nodded and turned towards the city, back to his patrol route, but then he turned around and said, “Oh, and please - do ask him to come by the Inn later!”   


Theresa smiled and waved him good-bye, before heading back inside.

There was after all, still work to be done.   
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Finally got this finished. Huge thanks to my friend [TurboToast](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/TurboToast/) for making this readable essentially, and also helping me out with this generally. [Elsepth](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Elsepth/) or Elsie, made a huge contribution by not only writing the backbone of the fight scene but also fixing a big part of the very ending of this chapter, and being the person I relied on for factual stuff. Because my knowledge about the medieval art of stabbing people is very limited. Check them both out, they are amazing.
> 
> EDIT: It appears I may have been botted. I have filed a report with support and cannot delete while they investigate. If it indeed turns out I have been botted, I'll delete this fic and reupload since I really don't like using unfair means to success. My apologies to the other writers in this fandom.


End file.
